


Strict Machine

by ArgentGale



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Discipline, Double Penetration, F/M, Fucking, Kissing, Raw - Freeform, Shameless, Spit Roasting, i hope the reader has enough stamina, these two wolves are very hungry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale
Summary: Stationed aboard the Executrix, you find yourself thinking impure thoughts in regards to not only Orson Krennic, but Wilhuff Tarkin.   try to keep  desires concealed but to no avail.  Both men pick up on  lust and decide to take...disciplinary action.





	Strict Machine

**Author's Note:**

> My laptop recently died and in the mad dash to save all of my WIPs I happened upon this fic. I was surprised to find it was just about finished, but for whatever reason I had abandoned it. On Tumblr I inquired if anybody would be interested in reading about getting wrecked by not only Orson Krennic but Tarkin as well and the response was overwhelmingly positive, so here we are. Enjoy your roll in the trash.

You make your way to the conference room with your heart in your throat and dread churning in your gut.  

_ Summons for Disciplinary Action. Conference room A15-2. 0300. _

That was all the com said, terse and to the point.  Oh and it came from the Grand Moff himself.

Your mind spun and whirled like a maelstrom trying to figure out what you could have possibly done to warrant this.  Your performance was…exemplary. In fact at your last evaluation only a month ago you had received glowing commendations and remarks from each officer that you had served under.  

The only thing that might raised an eyebrow was…well…your not-so-subtle glances, and quiet admiration for Director Orson Krennic. From the moment you first laid eyes upon him, the inappropriate feelings he stirred in you were immediate and consumed your thoughts.  You found it difficult to respectfully turn your gaze away from him when he walked past. You caught yourself watching him, pinning him under a lustful gaze  when he would chance across your path as he bustled along keeping with his duties.  To be honest you weren’t even sure what it was his duties _were_.  Gossip was he was an engineer overseeing a project that was of great importance to the Empire. What, exactly,  that project was way above your security clearance.   Murmurs and whispers were all you had to go on.  

Krennic.  With those piercing blue eyes and sandy hair frosting to silver made for  a striking combination. And goodness, that uniform.  That white cape sweeping and dramatic as he strode down the corridors.  He exuded a confidence that was intoxicating. 

On the occasions  he caught you watching him he would only hold your eyes for a brief moment, but it seemed time stood still.  You felt a jolt go straight to your core and your heart would begin to pound, mouth running dry. Once you could have sworn that you saw the barest of smiles flicker for just a heartbeat across his lips but other than that, he never gave any indication of the slightest bit of interest towards you.

But that wasn’t the only one you had an eye on.  

No. It seemed you had a thing for your superiors. 

You were also caught, on numerous occasions, casting blatantly lustful looks Tarkin’s way. 

With him you had always tried to be doubly careful but to your chagrin Tarkin had caught your lustful glances. Twice actually.  His steely gaze holding yours for a fraction of a second  before sliding away in apparent indifference.  

As you make your way ever closer to the conference room, you nervously chew your lip.  Certainly Tarkin must see you as nothing more than a silly (and rather foolish) snip of a girl.  Stars, he is old enough to be your father.  And that is part of the allure of it all. His age. And the power.  Oh and his intellect.  And yes…the way he, too, fills out his uniform.  Even if he is a bit on the older side. Trim, eloquent,  and  commanding such a presence when he is on the bridge.  You can practically _feel_ the power rolling off of him.  Respect is not something Tarkin wishes for.  Respect is something Tarkin commands.

Of course your friends tease you about your “harmless” and "silly" crushes.  It is all in good-natured fun and you brush it off with a slight smile and a nervous shrug.   They are too busy off chasing the younger officers. Indeed they are quite handsome in their own right but with their youth comes inexperience.  You prefer your men a bit more worldly and like a fine wine,  aged to absolute perfection.

Men that _knew_ what they were doing when it came to women.

Men that _knew_ how to please.

Men that weren’t afraid to give voice to their desire and had a profound appreciation for a woman that did the same. 

You did not have the patience for an over eager cadet fresh from his teen years, bumbling and fumbling over you, not two strokes in and he was spilling into you before you even got started, leaving you frustrated and unfulfilled.    

You heave a soft sigh in resignation. You are proud to do your part. To serve the Empire in any capacity you can. The unexpected benefit working side by side with some of the most powerful men in the galaxy proved to be quite the aphrodisiac. 

And your blatant gawking may very well be getting you in _big_ trouble.  

You’ve arrived. The door is shut the slide bar indicating  _ “in use.” _

Swallowing thickly you open the door and as you enter your eyes sweep over the room.   It is one of the smaller rooms and it is so dimly illuminated that your eyes need a few moments to adjust.   As they do so you see  Tarkin seated at the head of the polished black table with his fingers tented before him as he regards you with those stormy slate-colored eyes.  Now your nerves take control and your heart begins to _really_ pound, not only from fear but also due to the fact he looks so damned attractive.  

You swallow, throat clicking, and then you steel yourself.  If you are going out at least  _ he _ will be the one to send you on your way. 

It will be a bit of an honor, actually. 

You take a deep breath and give a slight, respectful bow in his direction, addressing him with a quiet, “Governor.”

It is then you catch a flicker of movement from the corner of your eye and turn to see that Director Krennic is also there.  He, too, sits with authority, but it is a different air of authority than what Tarkin possesses. While Tarkin sits with a cool, refined air commanding respect with a silent austerity,  Krennic sits with an air of brooding menace and  threat.  His body posture is  not unlike that of  a voracious predator, tensed and  waiting for his prey to happen by so he can rip it to bloody shreds and feast.  

When your gaze catches his, he curls his  lips into a slight smile.  It makes your heart leap and your stomach flutter. 

_ Why is he here?  _

You can understand Tarkin being there, he was the one that summoned you to this…hearing.  Krennic’s name was not even mentioned in the summons.  

_ Why was Krennic here?   _

_ Both of them.   _

Both men you have been lusting over ever since you were assigned to this ship. 

Your stomach does a slow, sick flip. You take a steadying breath and hope you can maintain a façade of calm. 

Shifting your focus back onto Tarkin, you address him, praying your voice holds.

“Sir, here as you requested for my…disciplinary hearing.”  

You are very relieved that your voice is strong, precise, and does not waver.

Both Tarkin and Krennic keep their faces neutral, completely blank and unreadable. 

Finally Tarkin’s voice unfurls, smooth and cool, “Yes.   Your disciplinary hearing.” 

He then offers a thin smile.  “Do you know why you are here <name>?” 

You take another steadying breath before you answer, voice soft and yet firm, “No, Sir. I do not.  I do hope there is not a problem. “

Krennic then gives a low laugh.  “Really?”  He then rises from his seat and  here in the confines of the room he appears much so much taller and broader.  His build is the opposite of Tarkin’s lean, lithe frame. 

As Krennic rises to his feet you notice that Tarkin shoots a glance at Krennic, quick as a flash of heat lightning.  He says nothing but the look is heavy with warning.  

This is  _ Tarkin’s _ show.  

The icy glance is enough to stop Krennic dead  in his tracks.  He then rests his gloved hands on the shiny tabletop and you notice that his fingers  are twitching with agitation. Or was it…excitement. 

Tarkin returns his steely gaze back to you, purses his lips thoughtfully and then addresses you, his clipped accent succinct and piercing.  “It has come to my, or should I say,  _ our  _ attention that there has been some inappropriate behavior going on.  From you.”  

“F…from me, Sir?  I..I do not understand.”

From the corner of your vision you can pick up that Krennic is tense. His posture is rigid.  

He is expecting something. A signal or word from Tarkin.    

Tarkin then leans forward, resting his elbows upon the table and  steepling his fingers.  He looks pensive, as if he has given this matter considerable thought. 

“Yes. You.  _ Incredibly _ inappropriate. And we need to deal with it. Immediately.”

You feel your hands begin to tremble.  “I…I do not understand. Deal with…what?”  Your mind races desperately trying to figure out why it is you are here under such scrutiny.  Was a rival spreading lies?

“We are not blind.  Director Krennic and I have seen the way you look at us.  Watch us.   I’ve caught you on numerous occasions…leering at me.  Almost as if you were undressing me with your eyes.  I saw you licking your lips hungrily.” 

Tarkin then paused, almost dramatically, before continuing.  “ Do you deny this?  Am I perhaps mistaken?”

_ How to answer this?   _ Taken off your guard you can only nod  your head numbly. 

_ Guilty as charged.  _

If they only knew that there was many a night you writhed on your bed, hand between your legs moaning one or the other’s name, panting as you came.

“I…I cannot sir.  You...are not mistaken.”

“And I am sure you are quite  aware that it is  _ very  _ much against the rules for an insubordinate to consort with a superior officer, yes?”

“Y…yes, Sir. I am quite aware.”

With that Krennic begins to again advance  towards you, the  signal from Tarkin apparently given.  

As he makes his way  Tarkin, too, arises from his chair.  He glances at Krennic and remarks, “Make sure that door is locked and the “unavailable” notification lit.  Krennic nods and engages the lock with a soft click.  You can then feel his presence behind you.  You dare not turn to look at him.  You begin to tremble as the scent of his cologne  washes over you.  It is clean, crisp, and deliciously  masculine.  

In spite of this dire situation, to your chagrin you feel a growing dampness between your legs.  You curse softly under your breath as the two men stalk into position, Krennic behind and Tarkin moving before you. 

Tarkin clasps his hands behind him as he slowly  makes his way over to you with steps that are sure and measured, boots tapping softly on the polished floor. 

“Yes. The rules are  _ quite  _ clear. No consorting with a superior officer. However,” he pauses, “There is nothing concerning consorting with superior…officers,”  he places emphasis on the plural, “if one is commanded to do so.”

You flush and a soft whimper escapes your throat. 

_ Surely he does not mean… _

Tarkin now looms before you.  He exudes such power and command that you fear your knees will give out they are trembling so hard.   He smiles slightly.  “Now then, shall we begin the discipline?”  His eyes flicker back to Krennic and he gives the slightest of nods. You squeak in surprise as you feel Krennic’s hands encircling your waist and then drawing you back towards him.  With your back pressed flush against his chest and groin, you can’t help but feel the bulge of his hard cock nudging insistently against your back. 

Tarkin moves closer still and you lick your lips.  You have  _ never  _ been this close to the two of them.  Just looking at them from a distance was enough to drive you mad.  Being this  near to them is driving your senses into a frenzy.  You can _feel_ the warmth of Krennic’s body. _Smell_ him.  And the eager press  of his hard cock is  _ very _ distracting.

Tarkin’s voice purrs as he takes his hand and tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “So…now then.  What shall we do with this impudent little officer who thinks she can just openly leer at her superiors?”  

You can only shake your head, your breath now coming in ragged gasps.  

Tarkin smiles before he responds.  “I have an idea.  A rather splendid idea if I do say so myself.  Would you like to hear it?”

You do not trust your voice and can only nervously lick your lower lip and nod.

“Oh look at you.”  His voice rumbles.  “Look at you trying to act so  _ afraid _ .  What a splendid actress you are. I dare say right at this very  moment you are already _quite_ wet. All ready for me.  And ready for Orson.  Am I correct in this assumption? Hmm?”

You say nothing but tilt your chin up in defiance.  

He is absolutely correct.  The dampness between your legs is becoming downright uncomfortable. 

Tarkin seems to enjoy your display of bravado and runs a finger appraisingly along your jawline as he again purrs, “Look at those lush lips.  They look rather inviting, don’t they Orson?”  Tarkin then takes his thumb and runs it under the full swell of your lower lip. 

Slowly.  

Oh so very slowly.   

It is precise, delicious, _torture_.

It takes every ounce of self-control to not take that teasing  thumb into your mouth and gently suckle upon it, hinting at just what your mouth is capable of.  

No. 

You wait.   _ Let him lead. _

This is your  _ punishment _ after all. 

Tarkin continues but you notice his breathing has become a bit more labored as well.

“My idea is that we teach you a little lesson. A lesson on respecting your superior officers and not leering at us as if we were pleasure slaves on the block for you to purchase for the evening’s entertainment.”  His lips then quirk in a smile, obviously finding humor in the image he painted for you. 

The idea of Krennic wearing a collar was not without its charms and your cheeks flush with heat as you ponder the thought. 

For all of your ogling and fantasizing, you knew very little of both men’s romantic exploits.  Krennic had a bit of a rakish reputation.  It was no secret his bed chamber might as well have had a revolving door. Bedding women was a sport to him.   As for Tarkin?  He seemed an unlikely candidate for raucous nighttime exploits.  He seemed the type to keep his trysts private and respectable. And as your friends had so often bluntly pointed out, due to his age, a nightly parade of various lovers would be more of a bother than a triumph.  Besides, unlike Krennic, he had nothing to prove.  

A sharp, and rather insistent, tug at your tunic front brings your focus back to the situation at hand.  As you were distracted by Tarkin’s little speech, it seemed  the Director had managed to snake his hands to your front and had now  found the catch on your uniform.   His gloved fingers slowly open your tunic and then pull the fabric aside leaving you fully exposed for Tarkin’s inspection. 

“Take that completely  off of her. I want her bare.”  

Tarkin’s eyes glitter as they devour you.  

You feel your tunic slide down over your shoulders, down your arms, and then finally completely off.  Krennic  then throws the tunic onto the table where it lies in a crumpled heap upon the polished surface.

You now stand clad only in  your bra, non-regulation of course, consisting of deep crimson shimmer silk and whisper-fine lace.  You feel your nipples harden as the chill air hits your skin, the tight buds boldly jabbing through the silken material in a defiant invitation.   You manage a slight smile.  You are glad you decided to wear this, and the matching panties, today.  

“And I see you are wearing non regulation underthings.  How...brash of you.”  Giving a soft “tsk” Tarkin again shifts his gaze to Krennic and then back to you. 

“Well then. Let the disciplinary hearing…commence.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I have Chap 2 just about finished and hope to have it posted soon.


End file.
